


Auld Wife's Tail

by methylviolet10b



Series: By a Whisker [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crack Treated Seriously, M/M, Magical Realism, Prompt Fic, and there's a kitten
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-06-22 07:46:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19662934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/methylviolet10b/pseuds/methylviolet10b
Summary: John finally tells Sherlock the story behind his curse. Written for JWP 2019 #5 at Watson's Woes.





	Auld Wife's Tail

**Author's Note:**

> Not a single clue how the [prompt picture](https://cdn.pixabay.com/photo/2015/03/26/09/53/park-690533_960_720.jpg) led to this, but there it is. A follow-on to the story started in Hot Tabby.
> 
> Warnings: Crack. So much crack. Dialogue. Not much plot. Written in a huge rush. You have been warned.

“This is just a family story, remember.” John ruffled one hand through his sandy hair. In the dim light of the lamps lighting the park, it was difficult to say for certain what his expression was, but Sherlock was adept at reading body language. John was embarrassed by what he was about to relate.

Of course, the fact that John had wanted to get dressed and go for a walk before discussing any of this had told Sherlock that. John liked to move on the moderately rare occasions when he was agitated or uncertain about how to say something. “I understand that this is a hearsay account passed down over time, and therefore not reliable,” he said as patiently as he could. “Still, any information is potentially better than none.”

“Right.” John prowled past an empty park bench into the next pool of light. “Well, the story my family tells is that Hamish Watson, my many-times great-grandfather, came to the notice of his laird by virtue of his bravery. His laird named him captain of his own personal guard, bypassing the fellow who was expected to become the next captain. That man went to a witch and paid her to place a curse on Hamish, to get him out of the way. The witch did so, and the next day, Hamish woke to find himself a battered tom cat.”

“An adult tom cat?” Sherlock couldn’t stop himself from asking.

John looked over at him, one eyebrow raised. “Yes, I’m aware. Keep listening.”

“Right. Continue.”

“So in the hue and cry over Hamish’s disappearance, he overhears his rival gloating about how his plan had worked, and learns the name of the witch who’d done the deed. Hamish set out to find that witch, and when he did, he asked her to undo her curse and change him back.” John noticed Sherlock’s expression and shrugged. “Apparently the witch spoke cat, or something like it. As I said, it’s just a story.”

“No, go on. This is fascinating.”

> “The witch refused, so Hamish set about trying to get her to change her mind. He chased off her own cat, and the little dog she kept, too. And he went out and caught all the live mice and rats he could and brought them back to her cottage. Soon the cottage was overrun. Every night at sunset, he would ask her to relent, and every night the witch refused. The witch tried bringing in other cats and ratting dogs, but to no avail; Hamish beat them all and drove them away. At last the witch had had enough. “I cannot just undo the spell, for it was bought and paid for. You must give me something, and even then, I cannot remove it completely.”
> 
> Hamish looked at himself. “I have very little I can give you like this, lady witch,” he pointed out. “I can clear your house of the mice and rats…”
> 
> “That doesn’t count, seeing as how you caused the problem in the first place.”
> 
> “If you hadn’t changed me into a cat in the first place…”
> 
> “Yes, yes, we’re in quite the conundrum.” The witch thought for a moment, then reached out her hand. “You are a brave and honorable man. This is what caused you trouble in the first place, as it’s what made your fellow soldier so jealous. If I had known the true situation, I would never have agreed to help him, but that’s spilled milk now. However, your honor and courage can still save you. Swear to me that you’ll take my hand in marriage, and I will undo all of the spell that I can.”
> 
> “Not all of it?” Hamish asked.
> 
> The witch shrugged. “You’ve been touched by magic. That always leaves a mark. I’ll do my best.”
> 
> Hamish looked at the witch. She was young, and comely, and looked genuinely sorry for what she’d done. It occurred to him that she probably could have chased off all the rats and mice herself with her magic, or turned them into butterflies, or blasted him out of existence.”

“I was wondering about that,” muttered Sherlock, unable to help himself.

This time John grinned back. “I thought the same thing the first time I heard the story. There isn’t much more to it. Hamish agreed to marry the witch, she changed him back, and they married. She helped him get his position back with the laird and confound his rival. All was well, except that anytime Hamish drank mulled wine or cider, a few hours later he’d find himself changing back into a tomcat as often as not. The witch explained that she’d used allspice in the original spell, and that he’d probably always react to it. They had many children. After Hamish died, she gathered them all together and told them the true story of how they’d met. ‘And the magic is not gone with your father,’ she said. ‘For in every generation of his that follows, there will be one who will be braver and more honorable than all the rest. That one should always avoid allspice, for he or she will be touched with the same magic that I cursed your father with in the very beginning.’ And then she vanished and has never been seen again. Or so the story goes.”

They walked together in silence for a few minutes.

“And so in every generation of Watsons, there has been one that can turn into a cat under the right circumstances?”

John nodded. “It was my uncle Harry in my father’s generation, and my great-aunt Sophie in my grandfather’s,” he admitted.

“Were any of them kittens?”

“No.” John sighed. “As nearly as I can tell, the age of the cat form is dependent on the time of the first change. There have been young cats as well as old cats in our family lore, but as far as I know I’m the only kitten.”

Sherlock followed that thought to its logical conclusion. His hands, buried in the pockets of his Belstaff, curled loosely into fists. “How old were you when you first changed?”

“Two.”

“TWO?”

“I don’t remember it very well myself, but apparently I’d had some biscuits made by a friend of my mum’s, and they must have had allspice in. It was evening, and our parents had put us down for the night. Somehow a huge rat got into our cot – Harry’s and mine, we shared one for years. Don’t ask me how the rat got in, or what it was doing. My parents heard an almighty crash and came running. Harry was in one corner of the crib, screaming and swinging her bear, trying to beat off the rat. I was nowhere to be seen, but there was a kitten clawing desperately on the rat’s back, trying to kill it.”

Of course John was the bravest Watson of his generation. Possibly of any Watson generation. Sherlock simply accepted this as fact, only very slightly substantiated by magic, but from the light blush coloring John’s cheeks despite the poor light, John himself found it embarrassing to admit. “That must have been an interesting conversation between your parents,” Sherlock offered, by way of distracting him from his unnecessary modesty.

“My dad had told my mum the story as part of asking her to marry him, so in theory it wasn’t an entire surprise, but yeah. I doubt she’d believed it until then.”

“Hardly surprising that she would until she saw the evidence with her own eyes.” Sherlock stopped walking, standing with John almost directly underneath one of the lamps. “So you’ve been stuck as a kitten ever since.”

“In cat shape, yeah. The rest of me has had no trouble aging, believe me. Sometimes it’s nice, being a kitten. My shoulder doesn’t hurt then, or my leg.”

“But you’re vulnerable.” Sherlock wished the words unsaid the moment they left his mouth. What _was_ it with him tonight, that he had slipped up and said things like this?

John visibly startled, and then his eyes narrowed. He studied Sherlock intently, and then reached out and took both of his hands. “Humans are vulnerable too; to guns, to knives, to a simple slip in the bath. It’s part of the human condition. But this is who I am, Sherlock. Man and kitten.”

 _I know you were scared when I was hurt as a kitten,_ John’s look said as plainly as words. _I know you never want that to happen again. I can’t promise it won’t._

“All right,” Sherlock said, answering both the spoken and unspoken words. He turned his hands so he was holding on to John’s just as much. “All right.”

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted July 5, 2019.


End file.
